breathe, he tells me to breathe.
his features transform.
kindness dissipates,
darkness remains.
instinct screams not to trust,
not to reason.
i reach for the door,
he slams it shut.
i ache to scream, cry, run.
anything but to stay,
to feel the pressure of that moment.
but i am not allowed.
funny-- i know my place.
i am free to walk away,
free to stay.
but the consequences are what
shape my behavior,
train me,
enforce his rules.
his needs.
my mind is an echo chamber to his words.
sometimes, i do not consider
his needs, his feelings.
sometimes, i mean to hurt him
with my truth.
tell me then why i swallowed
my fears to please you,
to want this as much as i wanted to.
tell me then why i stayed
when you asked.
it would have been easier to sit still
if the caving in my chest did not
mimic cardiac arrest.
it would have been easier to behave
if the gradual onset of dread
had not distracted me
from finding higher ground.
you had rules for me,
and i only began to understand
when i saw
that these rules
did not apply
to you.
you permitted yourself to be free
and i, weighed down by chains,
knew i was free to walk away,
but the consequences of
my character's attack
were too great a risk.
"a shame," you would say.
"i always thought you were a kind, sweet girl."
i was only the girl foolish enough to believe
it mattered what you thought.
my pride-- my Achilles heel.
you-- my muse of strained poetry.
i should have known better.
you smile,
tell me to breathe,
your fingers pressed
against my throat.
i say,
"okay
i will tear
out this throat
you sewed into my skin,
riddled with
ill-fitted vocal chords
never mine to begin with
to protect myself
from you.
i will have to learn
to speak again,
but at least
i will be the one
speaking
at all."
my only regret-- thinking i couldn't break free.
your only regret-- thinking i wouldn't.
isn't that funny?
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
breathe, he tells me to breathe.
his features transform.
kindness dissipates,
darkness remains.
instinct screams not to trust,
not to reason.
i reach for the door,
he slams it shut.
i ache to scream, cry, run.
anything but to stay,
to feel the pressure of that moment.
but i am not allowed.
funny-- i know my place.
i am free to walk away,
free to stay.
but the consequences are what
shape my behavior,
train me,
enforce his rules.
his needs.
my mind is an echo chamber to his words.
sometimes, i do not consider
his needs, his feelings.
sometimes, i mean to hurt him
with my truth.
tell me then why i swallowed
my fears to please you,
to want this as much as i wanted to.
tell me then why i stayed
when you asked.
it would have been easier to sit still
if the caving in my chest did not
mimic cardiac arrest.
it would have been easier to behave
if the gradual onset of dread
had not distracted me
from finding higher ground.
you had rules for me,
and i only began to understand
when i saw
that these rules
did not apply
to you.
you permitted yourself to be free
and i, weighed down by chains,
knew i was free to walk away,
but the consequences of
my character's attack
were too great a risk.
"a shame," you would say.
"i always thought you were a kind, sweet girl."
i was only the girl foolish enough to believe
it mattered what you thought.
my pride-- my Achilles heel.
you-- my muse of strained poetry.
i should have known better.
you smile,
tell me to breathe,
your fingers pressed
against my throat.
i say,
"okay
i will tear
out this throat
you sewed into my skin,
riddled with
ill-fitted vocal chords
never mine to begin with
to protect myself
from you.
i will have to learn
to speak again,
but at least
i will be the one
speaking
at all."
my only regret-- thinking i couldn't break free.
your only regret-- thinking i wouldn't.
isn't that funny?